“He was on foot, but he was fast. He went north.”
When we got to the rental kiosk, as luck would have it, there was no one manning the rental station, so we did the next best thing, improvise. I fished a magic marker and a blank postcard from my trip to Idaho three years ago out of my bag. I scrawled a quick IOU on the card and held it in front of our honest, smiling faces to snap a selfie with my smart phone. Next, I friended the rental company on Facebook and uploaded the IOU picture to its business page. Feeling very responsible, we selected a tandem bicycle and hopped on (because “borrowing” only one bike was definitely better than riding off with two) and pedaled in the direction that June saw the man heading.
We caught a glimpse of the stranger as we headed to the north side of the island. He was now driving a golf cart, which he must have had parked somewhere down the road from Ruby’s. It was easy to keep him in sight because whenever the sun peaked out from behind a dismal cloud, it glinted on the dime-sized diamond in his left ear and magnified the shine coming from his slick, black ponytail. Trying to look like incognito holiday tourists, we pedaled behind him at a respectable distance. We weren’t worried about losing him since the road we were on basically was a big circle ringing the island. We rode past the island cemetery, Glacial Grooves, and the state park. As we neared an abandoned fishing dock and dilapidated warehouse located in a sparsely populated stretch of land, we began to wonder if perhaps we were wasting our time on this guy, barking up the wrong tree.
The man in the golf cart finally came to a stop next to a white-panel van parked beside the old warehouse, far back from the road. We parked the tandem bike in a stand of trees that kept us well out of sight but allowed us a pretty good view of the mystery man. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black boots. His wrap-around black sunglasses completed his creeper/biker/criminal outfit. While we stood watching the scene, June told me once more what she witnessed behind Ruby’s house. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around what I was hearing.
“Do you think Roger is really involved in any of this? Who is this guy? And what was Roger doing talking to him? Are you sure you heard the guy say ‘fire?’”
The guy in black stopped beside the golf cart and looked from left to right. I held my breath when he turned his head right in our direction. I was seriously regretting my decision to wear my orange blouse with the glittery flowers across the chest. It was one of my summer favorites and complimented my tan walking shorts perfectly, but right now I felt like a glow-in-the-dark target. June, on the other hand, looked like she had dressed just for this occasion. The man in black finally went back to whatever it was he was doing. Just to be on the safe side, I pulled my emergency sweater out of my bag and wrapped myself in its beige comfort. June jabbed me in the ribs just as I was knotting the sweater’s belt around my waist.
“Look, Francie! What is he doing? We need to find out what’s going on over there.”
The man was unloading cardboard boxes from the van and carrying them into the old warehouse.
I bent down and retrieved my cell from the pile of leaves it had landed in when I was looking for my sweater. It gave me an idea. I waited for the man to come out of the warehouse, and as he stepped toward the van, I located my phone’s camera app and zoomed in on the man’s face. I saw the jagged scar running from his right ear down across his throat and disappearing beneath his T-shirt collar. The phone was shaking in my hands as I made sure the flash option was turned off and snapped pictures of the man, the van, and the warehouse. Somehow all of this must be connected to the fire and the mysterious victim discovered in Ruby’s attic.
June pulled her own phone out of the cargo pocket on her right thigh. She was much more poised under pressure than I was, and she began systematically photographing the scene as if it was just part of a feature story she was working on.
We watched silently as he carried six more boxes into the abandoned warehouse. When he was finished, he drove the golf cart behind the building and covered it with a tarp. After one more surveying glance of the area, he got into the panel van and headed back toward town.
I stared at my phone for a long moment. Once again, I felt an overwhelming need to talk to Hamm. What the heck was I doing hiding behind trees taking pictures of a creepy stranger? I hit the speed dial button for my husband’s cell phone and waited. I was told by an annoying computer voice to “Please enjoy the Verizon ringtone while my party was being reached.” I did not enjoy the music and my party was not reached.
“Where are you, dammit?” Screaming at my phone brought no response from it.
June gently pried the phone from my hand and looked at the number on the screen. “What’s the matter, Francie? Didn’t Hamm call you when he got home? I bet he just got busy. I’m sure everything is fine.”
I wiped my hand across my face and tried to ignore my growing sense of uneasiness. “You’re right, of course, June. Thanks for keeping me sane. Let’s go find out what this goon is up to before he hurts someone else.”
We secured our purses cross-body, checked to make sure our shoes were tied, even though I was wearing flip flops and June’s combat-style running shoes fastened with Velcro, and locked our hands in a death grip usually reserved for midnight viewings of horror movies. When we were sure we were the only ones in the vicinity other than the squirrels, we snaked our way cautiously between the sparse saplings lining the edge of the woods. Finally, we crept out from the trees and stood out in the open in front of the building. The place was old. Where it was metal, it was corroded by rust, and the sections that were wood showed only a few shadows of its original, sunny-yellow paint. If the building was a person, it would definitely be a zombie. The high windows around the structure’s perimeter looked like empty eye sockets and prevented us, or anyone for that matter, from seeing inside.
June was jumping up and down under one of the windows. “We really need to get inside. Those boxes must be important to somebody.”
“Are you crazy? That’s breaking and entering! What if we get caught? I don’t want to spend my retirement years wearing an orange jumpsuit and showering with strangers.”
“Who’s going to catch us? It’s not like there are nosy neighbors with binoculars keeping watch over the place, which is exactly why someone would choose it to hide illegal activities. If no one has stopped us by now, I think we’re safe. Besides, if there happens to be a slightly open door or a broken window, we wouldn’t technically be breaking, just entering.”
I rolled my eyes at the back of June’s head as she disappeared around the back of the building. “That makes me feel so much better.”
I grudgingly decided I might as well follow her. We’d come this far and I did want to see what was inside the old building. Maybe there was a service entry or some other way in. We were in luck, or not, depending on whose opinion you considered. Sure enough, there was a garage door in the back that was set sturdily and level in its frame, looking incongruous in the middle of the leaning, tired wall. It was obvious that care had been taken recently to add a secure entrance to the dilapidated structure. There was a gap under the door on the left side created by the unmatched angles that was just barely wide enough for a nosey snoop or two to shimmy through.
Before I could stop her, June was down on the ground doing a crab walk right under the door. When her entire body had disappeared into the creepy building, I was left standing on the outside, frozen in place. I really didn’t think this was a great idea. Seconds later, June’s arm appeared under the door, jerking wildly and gesturing. I assumed she was telling me to follow her inside. So now I figured I had two options. I either continued standing out in the open, alone and scared half to death, or I go inside and be scared half to death with June. I decided on the latter. Rather than contorting my body into the form of a crab as June had done, I got down on my hands and knees in front of the door. The rough gravel poked and scraped at my palms and exposed knees as I flattened myself and wriggled under the door.
&nbs
p; Once inside the building, I straightened up, brushed the dust off my clothes, and picked some small stones out of my hands while I tried to get my bearings. The space was musty-smelling and damp. Dust mites danced and floated through the meager rays of sunlight that were able to make their way past the grimy windows. It was too dark to see much of anything, but I began imagining spiders, rats, and other creepy critters scavenging about. Instinctively, I rummaged in my purse for my phone. How did people survive without phone apps in the frontier days? I used my flashlight app to shine a thin beam of light over the floor and up the walls. The interior of the warehouse was half the size of a football field. All around the room, boxes like the ones the mystery man had been delivering were stacked eight to ten high. The towers of boxes were covered haphazardly with ragged, dirty tarps. Along the wall to the left of the garage door stood a row of boxes that didn’t have any others stacked on top. These must be the boxes we just witnessed the man in black unloading from the van.
“This is crazy, June. We need to get out of here. Let’s go call Detective Morgan so he can get a warrant or something and come check this out himself.”
“There’s no time. On an island this small, whoever owns this warehouse would catch wind of a warrant being issued and have plenty of time to clear out before the police ever got here. Besides, we don’t even know what’s in the boxes. We would have to tell Morgan what he was looking for before he could request a search warrant.”
I guess she had a point. It wasn’t a crime to store boxes in a warehouse, even if you did look like a city-slicker career criminal. There was no turning back now. Like it or not, we were in this asses to elbows. June walked toward the box closest to the door, and I approached one two spaces down. I worked at the shipping tape with the tip of my nail file and got the top opened without much problem. What I discovered in front of me was both exciting and disturbing.
Inside the box were designer handbags and scarves I could only dream about affording. I lifted out a beautiful, green leather Coach tote with a chain-link handle and tried it on for fit over my arm. I only wished there was a mirror in the place so I could admire the chic way it hugged my figure. I imagined strolling down the street collecting compliments on my fabulous fashion sense. As I was on my third or fourth turn, I noticed the signature tag on the handle was not quite right. The metallic tone seemed a little too brassy. I stopped and took a closer look. The purse was indeed leather, but upon closer inspection, I noticed the materials were just slightly less than designer quality. This was by far the best designer knock-off I had ever seen. It was impressive, and I’m sure most people would never know. I was not, however, most people when it came to knowing my accessories, especially Coach handbags.
Just then, June looked up from the box she was inspecting wearing a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses with large white plastic frames and black lenses. “These look killer with my outfit, don’t you think?”
“June, these purses and scarves are all knock-offs!”
“Huh? Are you sure?” She took the glasses off her face and carefully checked the hinges and markings inside the frames.
“Well I’ll be darned. You’re right. I didn’t notice. They’re really good knock-offs, but they are most definitely fake. They’re still really cute, though, don’t you think?”
Her box also contained sterling silver “Tiffany” necklaces and earrings, along with an assortment of other recognizable designer labels. I thought back to all the times I had admired some of these very accessories on the shelves of Ruby’s Treasure Chest. My heart sank with the realization of what this meant.
“June, do you think Ruby knows about this? I can’t imagine her ever trying to pass off fake merchandise as name brand.”
“Well, somebody knows something, that’s for sure. This stuff looks really good, but someone was bound to notice eventually. I really don’t think any of this has actually been on her shelves, do you?”
I didn’t know what to think. “I suppose you could sneak a piece in with the real stuff here and there and fool a lot of people. But why? And look at all this stuff! If all of these boxes are full of these things, where is it all going? More than one buyer would have to be involved to move all this merchandise.”
Before we had time to speculate any further, June held up her hand in a sign to be quiet. “Sshh! Did you hear something? I thought I heard a car door.”
“June, he’s back,” I whispered. We held our breath and listened to the squeak of the old door hinges at the front entrance. “Quick, let’s get out of here!”
The entire space was suddenly flooded with blinding fluorescent light. I stood like a toddler with her hand in the cookie jar for what seemed like an hour, but more likely it was closer to five seconds. Then all bets were off. I dropped the fabulous green bag onto the dirty floor and ran like I was being chased by Satan himself toward the light shining under the garage door. I prayed June was behind me. I improvised a home run slide and rolled like an awkward burrito under the door until I lost momentum and then scrambled the rest of the way from the building back into the shelter of the thin tree line.
I watched as June followed my path and caught up to me seconds later. And then I remembered to breathe. We were stuck, crouched behind some thorny shrubs that may or may not have been poisonous. I hadn’t regulated my breath yet, so I couldn’t question out loud the music I was hearing. This must be it. The angels were playing their trumpets to usher me through the pearly gates. “Celebrate Good Times, Come On!”
Chapter Seventeen
It was my phone ringing. It must have fallen out of my pocketbook in the parking lot about three yards from where we were hiding. I didn’t even think about what I was doing as I sprinted out into the open to snatch it then scurry back to our hiding place. “Hamm! Hamm! Where are you? I need to talk to you! Something really bad is going on. I know I promised, but we wanted to help and…”
“Please hold for the next available agent. Your call is important to us…”
“What? Who is this? What do you want?”
I didn’t have time to figure out how the ringtone I had programmed for my husband was now heralding telemarketers. There were a lot of strange things happening, but I needed to focus on the most imminent danger—the stranger in the warehouse. It was time to focus and take action.
I pressed the end call button with more force than necessary. “We can’t take the bike. He’ll see us for sure. We need another way to get back to the ferry without being spotted. There’s a kayak rental place down by the shore and it’s out of sight from the building and where the goon’s golf cart is parked. My chiropractor keeps telling me I should try kayaking as a physical activity. Maybe now’s a good time to start.”
“Really? Does he expect you to kayak three times a week all year? We live in Ohio, remember? Don’t you think running or joining a gym might be a better option?”
“We don’t have time to discuss the pros and cons of kayaking at the moment. Let’s just go rent one and use it to get back to the ferry dock and then back to the mainland. I think we need to get to a safe place and then tell the authorities what we’ve seen here. Hurry, June.”
June didn’t need to be told twice. She took off, her cute, army-boot-styled running shoes kept her sure on her feet as we sprinted across the sand. My fashionable nautical flip-flops matched my outfit perfectly but were not holding up quite as well in the running department. June reached the brightly painted rental kiosk well before me and was stretching her hamstrings when I caught up with her, panting and trying to shake the sand out of my sandals. I approached the rental window, wallet in hand, ready to get on with our plan.
“Hello! Is anybody here? Hello! We need to rent a kayak!” There was no one to be seen anywhere near the rental station.
“Not again! Francie, you better pull a rabbit out of that magic bag of yours. And quick.”
When it comes to improvising, I am nothing if not resourceful. I dug a page of a play script out of my bag and retr
ieved a tube of mauve lipstick that did nothing for my olive complexion. It was time to write another IOU, this time to the kayak rental company. Using my increasingly useful cell phone camera, I snapped a photo of June and myself holding the IOU and standing in front of the rental hut, friended the company on Facebook, and uploaded the picture to their business page. Under the picture, in the comment box, I quickly typed the date and our names. At the last minute, I decided to add a smiley face icon just to let the business owners know that we were friendly and trustworthy, not irresponsible jerks trying to take advantage of island hospitality. This was getting too easy.
Anxious to get far away from the dangerous-looking stranger, we chose the kayak we felt was best for the job—the one with the pretty fish mural painted on the side. We each grabbed an end and ran down the beach toward the water. We were ankle-deep in the icy water and about thirty feet off shore when we could finally stop our forward momentum. June held the kayak steady as I hauled myself in and onto the wood bench. June gracefully hopped over the side and planted herself confidently across from me. We each detached an oar from the side clasps and pushed away from the shore.
About fifty yards from land, June stopped rowing and gave me a worried look. “Francie, are you okay? You look a little green around the gills.”
I was frozen in place, staring over June’s shoulder out to the open water. We weren’t even far from shore. Any sane person would have realized she could hop over the side and almost walk the whole distance back to the beach. It was no more than five feet deep in most places, so the worst that would happen might be the need to hop up and down a bit. I, however, had just realized that our prettily painted vessel was not equipped with life preservers.
“Umm, June, remember that thing about me and not knowing how to swim? I really do love being on or near the water, but I’m afraid I never got around to actually learning how to swim in it. Do you think this thing will make it to the ferry dock? I have more shopping to do and wine to drink. I don’t want to die, especially not in a kayak!”
Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
